“Yeah. No one believed you.”
“I was about to say I was married to my work, and you”—she jabbed a finger in my direction— “made them believe I was married to you.” She threw up her hands. “What do you think will happen when they find out that’s a lie?”
I shrugged.
“Let me clue you in. They will make him out as the victim and me the villain.”
In my defense, I said, “I was doing you a favor.”
She swallowed, and I waited, feeling as if my next breath hinged on what she said. “You didn’t owe me that kind of favor.”
“Why?” I challenged.
“Because we’re nothing, but…” As she struggled for her next word, I moved in her direction. “Fuck buddies.”
I caged her against the door with nothing but my body. My hands were fisted at my sides as anger bubbled inside me. “Are you sure about that?”
“What would you call it?” she whispered.
I hadn’t defined it yet, though I’d felt whatever it was when I saw her with him. It was the same feeling I’d gotten when she showed up with Anderson in her apartment. It was primal. “I call it not wanting your showing to get bad press with headlines about the woman who thought she was too good for a proposal from her love-struck ex.”
She dismissed my words with a wave. “What about before that? That weird show of masculinity over paintings I know you didn’t buy?”
“I call it not wanting your ex to buy a painting of a woman in bed who looks a lot like you.”
Her eyes grew large and round, confirming she hadn’t figured that out.
I shook my head. “Every man in that room who looked at it looked immediately at you.”
“Her face isn’t shown. You’re overreacting,” she said.
Ignoring her last point, I asked my own question. “Yeah, and what surgery is he doing for you?”
Her eyes narrowed and held mine. “Haven’t you heard of HIPPA? It’s none of your business.”
I smirked—she’d walked right into what I would say and do next. “Hip,” I said as my hand landed on her thigh and pushed the material up to reach that location. “Pussy.” I let my finger slide to her center and over her clit as she sucked in air. “Ass.” I cupped hers with my other hand. “Yes, I’m very familiar with Hip.P.A.” I grinned, proud of my new acronym.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at,” she said with a hitch in her voice.
Lust and temptation warred with her anger. She had no idea that I had a Master’s in seduction.
“Let’s get this straight, I don’t play fair and I damn sure don’t share.”
With a tug, the scrap of fabric between her legs was left in shreds. I pocketed the remnants as I gave her a second to push me away. When she didn’t, I used my free hand to undo my jeans. My cock, up to the challenge, was already swollen for her. I put my hand back on her ass and hiked her up. Her back slid up the wall as she grabbed my shirt in both hands.
If I’d bet on her shoving me away, I would have lost and big. She drew me closer, nails raking on my skin. Her pouty mouth arched up, and I slid her down my shaft, going deep before I took her mouth as hungrily as her pussy had swallowed my cock.
Our kiss was frantic, tinged with rage. We were both still a little angry at each other and it fueled our connection. As light as she was, I couldn’t penetrate as far as I wanted. With Lizzy in my arms, I moved to her desk, my cock still buried inside her. I shoved aside papers, making room for her to lie in the middle.
She glanced over her head as I removed my shirt. It kept getting caught between us and I wouldn’t let that happen. The blinds were partially open, though not wide. Passersby would have to cup their hands against the glass to see past the opening in the slats.
“We should close that,” she said as the words melted in the air from the heat we were creating.
“Give them a show,” I said.
We fucked as if we wanted to kill each other. As I neared climax, I drew my gift from around her neck and over her head, pleased as punch she’d worn it. I pushed the button, bringing the little vibrator to life, and hit it again to rev up the vibrations. I slid it between us and on her clit as I pounded away, and it worked like magic. It wasn’t long before we came together in an explosion of passion.
I lay on her as we panted, trying to catch our breath. I felt the scratches on my back and knew they’d leave marks, if only temporarily.
“Get up,” she said, the coldness back in her tone.
I pulled out and smeared some of her come on my fingertip. As she stood, I put the vibe necklace back on her. I let our combined come leave an invisible trail between her breasts as I drew a line parallel to the necklace.
“Still angry?” I teased.
Unfortunately for me, she didn’t smile. “No. Not even a little. I just came to a decision.” Her brow lifted as if she wondered if I’d caught her double entendre.
“What’s that?” I asked, no longer smiling.
“I don’t need a fuck buddy. I need a man.” She let the words hang in the air. “See yourself out.”
I shouldn’t have cared. I should have fucking left and never looked back. But a part of me, even grinning inside, knew that a reminder that we had just fucked lay between her breasts and between her legs.
She had to know by that alone, we weren’t done yet.
Twenty-Two
Lizzy
When I left the room, I was ready to lay to waste to anyone who got in my way. However, after just a few steps, I realized I needed to go the opposite way to my private restroom for a little cleanup.
“Damn him,” I muttered.
As I was about to pivot, my parents emerged into the hallway.
“Lizzy,” Dad said with open arms.
I couldn’t deny him the hug and walked the few steps to embrace him with my thighs clenched, praying that my eagle-eyed mother wouldn’t notice anything that might make it past my thighs.
“You’ve done great,” Dad whispered.
“Thanks,” I said.
“It’s lovely, dear,” Mom said. “And everyone’s talking about a proposal. Your father didn’t let me find out what happened though. Do you know?”
“No gossiping tonight. This is about our daughter.”
Mom had stepped over to air-kiss me, and I held my pose well enough that no sexual aftermath could escape as I struggled with how to explain my sudden fake marriage. Before I could, Dad’s gaze shifted over my shoulder and I closed my eyes. I opened them just in time to get a glimpse of Striker’s smirk as he passed us.
“Do I know him?” Dad asked.
“No,” I said emphatically.
“He looks familiar.”
I shook my head. “He just has one of those faces,” I said, hating to acknowledge the man’s perfection in any way at that moment.
“What’s this?” Mom asked, reaching forward.
I leaned back as if I was doing an impression of Neo from the Matrix movies my brother loved and had forced me to watch.
Her brow crinkled in the middle. “There’s something on your necklace, dear.”
Oh, there was something and I didn’t want my mother to touch it.
“Are you okay?” she asked as I struggled to come up with an appropriate response.
“If you guys excuse me, I really need to use the ladies’ room.”
Mom grinned. “I can tell.” She let her eyes fall to my legs. “I remember when you were three.”
I couldn’t wait. Gravity was winning and my thigh gap wasn’t helping. I dashed into the bathroom, closing and locking the door to catch my breath. Angry, but not at Striker, I inwardly chided myself for giving in. Lust had won the first round, so I’d let my inner bitch have at him after.
Though I hadn’t conveyed it fully to him, I did want a man. A man to be mine in all ways. For months, I’d been longing for something. I thought I’d just missed my best friend, but the truth was, I wanted what she had. I wanted someone to call my o
wn. It was partly the reason I’d stayed with Hans so long.
I’d also come to the conclusion that it wasn’t just the sex that hadn’t been working in that relationship. Hans was a good man—too good for me. I needed a man a little rough around the edges. I needed a man who could protect me. Maybe that was a result of past trauma. My brother had been my protector for years, but he was gone too.
I wanted adventure, and damn if Striker wasn’t a man I could see taking me on those. His show of possessiveness had been kind of sexy, but I would never allow a man to rule over me. There was a thin line, and he’d crossed it tonight.
Worse, I hated that I’d end up in fake marriage headline, because on some level, I desired what my parents had. An unconditional love that lasted a lifetime. Now I’d be the girl who cried wolf—no, cried married when I wasn’t. I’d be the laughingstock of the press, and who would ever want to marry the woman who had not only broken the heart of American’s Sexiest Single but with a lie?
Anderson knocked on the door. “Lizzy. I really need you out here.”
My business! I got to work cleaning up. I also wiped down the vibe, remembering his finger leaving a blazing trail between my breasts.
When he knocked again, I said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”
I took another moment to breathe before I gathered myself, found my hostess smile, and left the restroom.
By the time I made it home late that night, I kicked off my heels and fell into bed.
I slept in Sunday and tried not to think about the man who’d occupied my dreams. Was I in as much denial as my bestie was? After movies, ice cream, takeout, and a little retail therapy, I was anxious to get out of the apartment and go to work on Monday.
As soon as Anderson walked into my office, I saw his eagerness to ask me all the details about my farce of a marriage. Grumpy about that and how good and rested he looked—when I felt like a bloated cow with the amount of carbs I’d consumed yesterday—I grimaced. It was probably a bad idea that I’d come in. I’d had to come in through the back of the gallery to avoid the few cameras at the front door.
I put the sunglasses I’d taken off on my desk. “How did we do?”
Anderson tapped his phone. “Assuming your husband pays, we made a profit that should make up for the last few months.”
I wasn’t a numbers guru like Bailey, but I’d priced Connor King’s anonymous artist’s work pretty aggressively. The contract required me to pay Connor, as the artist’s agent, within a week of the show.
“Lizzy?”
I glanced up. “What?”
“Will your husband pay or not? And you’re lucky I’m not giving you shit about not telling me. I’m giving you a break because of those bags under your eyes.”
“Bags?” I sputtered.
Anderson gave me a look of disbelief. “Honey, concealer couldn’t hide those shadows.”
“He’s not my husband and I don’t know.”
“So it was a lie?”
I nodded. “I’d planned to make an excuse about being married to work and not being able to give Hans what he would need in a wife.”
“And Mr. Gorgeous said you were married instead.” I nodded and Anderson tsked. “That can’t be a hardship. When were you going to tell me you were screwing that man?”
“Why do I have to be screwing him?”
“Because a man like that doesn’t claim someone he hasn’t tasted.”
I groaned and put my head on the desk. “The press is going to destroy me over this.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Marry him.” He shrugged when I glared at him. It was a ridiculous idea. “By the way, if he doesn’t pay, we’re close to losing money this month—unless we contact Hans and offer him the paintings.”
I thought about Striker’s comment about the woman in the painting being me. Though I’d been pissed at Striker’s possessiveness, he had apparently cured Hans of any thoughts of reconciliation between us. “That won’t work. I tried calling Hans to apologize, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
Anderson frowned. “At least we’ve gotten payment for the rest. I’ll prepare the shipping manifest. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
“You know, if I don’t say it enough, you’re the absolute best.”
“Not enough.” He grinned and winked before leaving to complete his task.
I sighed and sat at my desk. I had a lot of thank yous to send. I also needed to give Haven the good news that her art had sold out.
Just before noon, I sent out a final email before lunch.
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: More Art
I wanted you to know that things went really well at the show this weekend. Assuming everyone pays, I’ll send you a check for your artist’s share by the end of the week. I also wanted to inquire if the artist would like to do a solo show. I think it could be a great success. Please let me know.
I flipped my laptop closed and noticed I wasn’t alone.
Twenty-Three
Connor
There was a place I found inside myself when I’d come to see Lizzy. Humility. My world was dominance, but not hers. I had no claim on her and shouldn’t have acted like a caveman at the showing. I didn’t often apologize, but I wasn’t ready for her to walk out of my life. And if that meant bending at the knee, I would.
I pushed past two cameramen and inside the door. It chimed, but no one came out. I stepped to the left and down the hall where the offices were. Her door was open, and her eyes were fastened on her computer screen.
“Hey,” I said, startling her before her eyes narrowed.
“How did you get in here?”
“The door was unlocked. It shouldn’t be. Not with those cameras out there.”
“Thanks for that,” she said dryly. “But they won’t come in. Anderson already told them he’d call the police for trespassing if they did. Did I mention thanks for that?”
“I’m sorry. I honestly thought I was helping.”
“Helping end my career as I’m proved a liar for a lie I didn’t tell? Yeah, thanks. Again.”
My mouth shut because I had no response. Then an idea struck me. “What if there’s a way to fix this?”
She shook her head as if in disbelief because she saw no way out of this situation.
“Marry me,” I said.
A slow, low laugh bubbled out of her, but it wasn’t filled with humor. “Really? Not you too.”
“Think about it. If we get married, it won’t be a lie.” When I had her attention, I continued. “Marry me, and after a couple of weeks, we’ll get it annulled.”
Her anger died away as a thoughtful expression took over her face. I was getting somewhere.
“How do we accomplish that?” she asked, but I could tell she was placating me.
“I’ll call in a favor.”
“Mmmhmm. A favor?” She gave me side eyes.
“The judge will keep it private. It will be public enough so anyone who looks will find it, if they look. Maybe they won’t.” It wasn’t like her front door had been swamped with reporters. There had only been two sets.
“A favor,” she repeated suspiciously. “From a judge.”
“Yes, and this could work. They can’t call you a liar if you are really married.”
“I can’t believe I’m even considering this,” she said. “I need a drink.”
“Let’s go get one.” I drew her out in the hallway. “Is there another way out of here?”
“Yes, the back.” She led me that way.
As we passed her assistant, I said, “Your boss is leaving for the day.”
He grinned from ear to ear, and my girl let me lead her outside. I’d parked my bike in a garage not far from the back entrance. When we got on my bike, her skirt hiked high. I gave her my helmet because I hadn’t expected to drive with her and only had the one.
; “Is this safe?” she asked.
“Just hold on, princess. I got you.”
I didn’t drive any differently, and when I arrived at the Soho penthouse, I pulled into the garage without thinking. I parked in my usual spot.
“You know this is reserved, right?”
God, I hated to lie to her, so I shrugged.
I made my second mistake when we got into the apartment. I went directly to my stash of hard liquor.
When I pulled out a bottle of Glendalough 25-Year-Old Single Malt Irish Whiskey I’d been saving, her expression changed into a frown. “How’d you know that was there?”
It was damn good I was quick on my feet. “The other day when we made breakfast, I was rummaging around and spotted it.”
She relaxed. I was slowly burying myself in untruths I would have to own up to sooner or later.
I poured us each a generous glass. Had I honestly offered to marry the woman? She downed the drink in one gulp. I did the same as we stared at each other.
“Are we really going to do this?” she asked.
“Up to you, princess.”
“What do you have to do?” She poured us each another two fingers.
I swirled the amber liquid as I tried to figure out what was going on in her head. “I just need to make a call.”
She tossed back the second glass. “Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Make the call,” she said. “And this doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.”
I wanted not to be disappointed by that, especially when I had the urge to kiss the hell out of her. I nodded instead.
As I pulled out my phone, she disappeared in the bedroom. It didn’t take me long to make the arrangements because I had a favor owed to me.
I made other arrangements as well. I had a car come pick us up. We’d both had drinks. Since she was sober when we left Soho, I thought the woman could hold her liquor. That assumption died as time passed in traffic.
We’d made it back to Manhattan before Lizzy yelled, “Stop.” She waved at something outside of the window. “There!”
The driver looked at me in the mirror and I signaled for him to pull over. When he did, Lizzy jumped out.
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